Chris and Birdy (and our friends and their daughter) were at a water park in New Hampshire where kids can run and play in safe-for-littles sprinklers, pools, and water slides, and as the adults, we were tasked with guarding the perimeter. Pacing back and forth, the four of us kept watch on our kids, ready to jump in at any moment to help them climb a slide, pick themselves up if they fell, or slather on more sunscreen.

I didn’t care who saw my body. Not really, anyway. I’ve run miles and given birth (not simultaneously), so I know there are strengths and weaknesses to my frame, but it wasn’t the shape and curve of my body that made me want to stay covered up at the water park.

I didn’t want people staring at the diabetes devices stuck to my body.

“Oh, suck it up. No one is looking at you.”

Of course they aren’t. They don’t mean to. But when someone walks by wearing a bathing suit with a few curious looking devices hanging off it, it’s hard not to notice. My standard beachwear is a bathing suit with my pump clipped to the hip, the tubing snaked out to wherever the infusion set happens to be living, and my Dexcom sensor taking up more real estate elsewhere. These items aren’t jarring, and people don’t snicker, but they do look twice because cyborgs aren’t the norm.

Most of the time I don’t think twice about who might look, but on this particular day, I felt self-conscious. Why? Who knows. Who cares. I just felt eh that day.

But motherhood dictated that my self-consciousness take a backseat to being part of Birdy’s waterpark experiences, so I sucked it up and removed my cover-up. My insulin pump infusion set was stuck to the back of my right arm, the tubing snaking down and tucked into my bathing suit, where the pump was clipped to the back. My Dexcom sensor was mounted on my right thigh. Even though these devices are reasonably discreet, I felt like I had two giant toasters stuck to my body.

Birdy needed help climbing to a higher platform in the play area and I helped her do that, thankful that my pump was waterproof. We ended up in the sprinkler pad for a while and I was thankful that the tape around my Dexcom sensor was strong enough to withstand the water. After a few minutes, I got over the whole “blargh – I don’t want to wear giant toasters” feeling and got on with things.

“Excuse me. Is that an insulin pump?” All casual, the question came from behind me, where one of the park lifeguards was standing. His arms were crossed over his chest as he confidently watched the pool, but his question was quiet.

“Yeah, it is.” I wasn’t in the mood to have a full chat about diabetes, but I didn’t want to make him feel awkward for asking.

“You like it?”

“I like it better than taking injections. I was diagnosed when I was a kid, so the pump is a nice change of pace from the syringes.”

“I bet.” He paused. “I was diagnosed last August and I’ve been thinking about a pump. But I hadn’t ever seen one before. Is that it?” He pointed to the back of my arm.

“Kind of. That’s where the insulin goes in, but the pump is this silver thing back here,” I pointed to the back of my bathing suit, where my pump was clipped. “This is the actual pump. It’s waterproof.” A kid ran by, arms flailing and sending splashes of water all over the both of us.

“Good thing,” he said.

“For real.” Birdy ran by to give me a high-five and then took off playing again.

“Your kid?”

“Yep.”

“How long have you had diabetes?”

“Twenty-seven years.”

He gave me a nod. “Thanks for not making it seem like it sucks. Enjoy your day,” and he moved towards a group of kids that were playing a little roughly. I stayed and continued to watch my daughter play, very aware of my diabetes devices that, for the first time ever, didn’t seem quite noticeable enough.

(Also, today has been unofficially designated as a “day to check in” (hat tip to Chris Snider) with the DOC blogs that we’re reading. I read a lot of diabetes blogs, but I don’t often comment because I usually want to say something meaningful, instead of “I like your post.” (But I do like your post!) But instead of finding that meaningful comment, I usually roll on and forget to return to comment. NOT TODAY! Today I’m commenting on every blog I read, because that’s the name of the game. I love this community, and today I’ll show that through comments. So please – if you’re here, say hello! And thanks. xo)

126 Comments

me too! but I’ve also decided to not be embarrassed by it – a lot of the time its just more comfortable to wear it clipped outside a skirt than tucked inside. today it even matches with my shirt… bonus points!

and, as always, thank you Kerri 🙂 always a great part of my day when I see a new post is up.

I love it when kids at the pool ask if I have a bionic leg (because I wear my Dexcom sensor very prominently taped on my thigh – and I use a LOT of tape on that sucker.) Of course, I tell them, “why, yes, it is bionic – and gives me special mutant powers.”

Hi Kerri! I don’t usually comment on any D-blogs I read, because like you I feel weird saying “I like your post”. I don’t have T1D myself and sometimes I feel like my comments would be out of place or not meaningful. Anyways, thanks for your honesty and inspiration. Your blog was one of the first I started reading 3.5 years ago when I started at the JDCA. I like to think I’ve learned alot about T1D and what it means to live with the disease. (PS your daughter never ceases to make me smile!)

Check. Waved my pump at a young mom with her pink Minimed clipped to the front of her jeans yesterday while waiting to order lunch. Not as revealing as the poolside, but always the “should I interrupt/bother them?” Sometimes our kiddos make the choice for us. 😉

“Thanks for not making it seem like it sucks” I love that. I felt awkward my very first time at the pool with my devices. I felt low everyone was looking. A little girl asked what was on my arm. I told her it was an insulin pump. She smiled and shrugged like, okay, whatever. Then ran off to play. I thought, yeah. Whatever. Haha.

I feel like 70% of diabetes is mental. So when someone shows it doesn’t have to suck that is more powerful than the pump itself. I totally understand having blah days though. Sometimes I just want to go somewhere without someone asking about D:)

“Thanks for not making it seem like it sucks.” That exactly why I recommend your blog whenever I can, especially to parents of newly dx kids. I read your blog to imagine my dd, now age 12, dx at 4, as a grown up lady living a real great life with a child of her own and being happy. I tell parents who worry that their kids’ lives will now suck to come read SUM and see how great Kerri is doing. Despite struggles, despite sucky times and days, despite dealing with D, still you make it seem like it doesn’t totally suck and you can have a great happy life even if you have D. Even when you make me all teary eyed, I just love your blog. You have no idea how important your voice is.

Last Wednesday marked 30 years with T1D for me. Some people know, and some don’t. And some people have no idea the level of effort it has taken to survive those 30 years.

Thanks for not making it seem like it sucks – this is important to communicate to other people with diabetes. Especially those newly diagnosed. In order to live with this disease, diabetics do have challenges to overcome. Maybe not a Mt. Everest sized climb, but definitely much more difficult than walking up a flight of stairs. The staircase just doesn’t end.

I had a recent conversation with a non-diabetic and I once again realized that many people (even those who know me well) have no idea of what it takes to keep me alive each day. My intent was not to impress this person of how hard I work almost hourly, but he simply had no idea how much work is involved. I had mentioned that each time I look at the number on my glucometer was like having quizzes in school every few hours, and how difficult that feeling of being graded was to deal with mentally. I was surprised at his response of “Well, you can beat yourself up thinking of how you failed or overlooked something that caused that number…or you can take that new data point and use it to improve the next few hours or your life.’

Check 🙂 I know that when I was first diagnosed nearly 3 years ago I got great comfort in seeing other diabetics out enjoying life. Made me realize that life really can be ok and lived well. Thanks for sharing!!

I’m checking in because: 1) You’re awesome and you asked so nicely, 2) I read every day, 3) Ralph is my uncle-in-law (is that a thing?), 4) You met my husband, Niels, in Florida earlier this month and I was jealous, and 5) You made me tear up a bit too.

Awesome! It’s hard to balance that advocacy with not wanting to deal with the stares. You did a great job, as usual! Making all this seem normal to someone who is just starting out probably makes them breathe a little easier…

Check! Hi, Kerri! I use my pump when I teach technical communications. I pull it out and ask my students if they know what it is and then we talk about all of the types of communication and audiences involved with a pump from just an idea in someone’s head to a device clipped on someone’s hip. I started doing this because it seemed like a useful teaching moment and because it forced me to open up about it. One day, a young woman came up to me after class and showed me her pump. Advocacy and PWD solidarity can happen when we least expect it and, sometimes, when we really need it. ☺️

Thanks Kerri for the great story! To borrow a phrase from the Big Bang Theory, I’ve been feeling that diabetes “sucks so hard” lately. I am SO lacking motivation for my own diabetes and my daughter’s diabetes has been a pain in the butt over the last month. But, life keeps going, and eventually I will get to the place where diabetes doesn’t “suck so hard.” Thanks for helping show the way 🙂

Thanks for the post. My 15 year old daughter has been pumping for about two months, and while she loves the pump–she wears the omnipod–she is very self-conscious in her swimming suit because she also has a Dexcom. I appreciate so much this different take.

Hi there – I’ve never commented before, but since you are asking me to, here’s my comment. Thank you! Thank you for all of your posts. I was recently diagnosed at age 37 (37!!) and I felt very alone. I scoured the internet not even really sure what I was looking for. I’m so glad I found your blog! I’ve only met one other person (in real life) who has a pump. And as complete strangers we hugged in a bathroom in Disney World! What is it about us pumpers who feel so drawn to each other! I agree with that guy – thank you for acting like it doesn’t suck. Even though for all us SOME days it does. And p.s. I’m so jealous of your waterproof pump!!

I’m not surprised that you had that impact on a complete stranger considering what a great impact you’ve had on virtual strangers, myself included, in the DOC. I read your posts and often find comfort in learning I’m not the only one experiencing certain things. So, thank you!

checking in too. This is pretty perfect timing, as I’m planning to remove my arm dexcom to switch to my belly before going to a wedding this weekend. It’s not to much that i’m self-conscious about it, but sometimes you just don’t want to think about it all night and have other people ask you about it!

I find myself trying to prevent my son from those same stares, out of protection and mama bear mode but at the same time, I want him to be proud of who he is toasters and all 🙂 thank you for always sharing your perspective and helping us “dmom’s” understand the living with aspect!!!

There are days that you just don’t want to talk about D and the things, like Borg parts, come with D. And yet it seems to me, that those days are the ones that give us the boost that we need in very unexpected way. When I discovered the DOC a year ago(apparently I live under a rock), I discovered that there were hoards of people just like me! And guess what?! Tonight four of us united by DSMA are meeting for the first time. And I am sure we will walk away with that “thanks for not making it sound like sucks.” So thank you Kerri. For sharing with us your journey with D. And even though it sucks, it doesn’t have to be all we are. As some wise person said, “having diabetes doesn’t define who I am, but it helps explains who I am.”

This post brought a smile to my face. I found your blog when surfing the web after my daughter was diagnosed in October 2005. Your blog has been a life vest! Thanks for sharing your life, it brings me hope about my daughter’s future!
PS
I’m still waiting for the book! 🙂

I just went through all that range of deciding to cover up or uncover yesterday at the beach. Didin’t come with diabetes in the wild sighting though. Lucky for him that you decided to let your toasters hang out. 🙂

A lady at the pool the other day asked my son about his Dex, thinking it was a pump. (He’s a lifeguard there, and my husband is the manager.) She had noticed the Dex on both of them. She was diagnosed at 40, and had just been approved for a pump. I talked to her for quite a while. It seemed to help her to talk to someone who got it, you know?

Last week while at the zoo I carted by trio to the bathroom only to discover someone had left their iPhone on the toilet paper dispenser. I grabbed it and planned to take it to the lost and found when we left. As we walked out of the bathroom a woman was walking in with her teen daughter…whose face looked like she’d clearly left her iPhone in a zoo restroom and was about to be in BIG trouble.

The mom stopped me and said “did you by chance…” and I completed the thought with “find an iPhone in here? Yep. Here you go.” and I handed it to her. My trio took off running while the woman yelled out “THANK YOU! IS THAT AN OMNIPOD ON YOUR DAUGHTER’S ARM?” Half-running I yelled back that it was and she yelled “COOL! MY HUSBAND HAS ONE!”

Funny how the actual visibility of these devices can make someone else’s day…and save teenage girls from the wrath of their mothers 🙂

I find myself having the reverse problem: I am not impressing upon the people close to me that– HEY! — Put the brakes on for a second. Driving home right away after an exhausting day at a party may SEEM like something I should be capable of but, I need to be a little more careful with myself and the vehicle I’m following you in.

I don’t want to make everything about diabetes, but when I HAVE to err on the side of caution to keep myself (and others on the road) safe, diabetes HAS to get the final vote for safety’s sake.

Hey! I LOVE your blog. Quick question…what do you do with your receiver when you are at the pool or the beach? My dd has been using the Dex for the past 2 months and I just can’t find a place to put it to keep it safe.

I keep it in my bag at all times (I use Tallygear to hold the receiver, and it comes with a tether and a lanyard, so I leave the receiver hanging off the side of whatever bag I’m carrying, so I can hear the alarms.

Just got my pump a few weeks ago and getting used to people seeing it. Luckily a few people have politely asked what it was, one whose granddaughter is a diabetic. I much rather have people ask about it than stare. Also someone recognized it from Miss Idaho on the Today show! Things are looking up.

After 23yrs of MDI I keep thinking I’d like to join the pump brigade. Unfortunately I suspect I won’t qualify for public funding and I’m not sure of the cost/benefit of self-funding. So I’m not sure what it’s like to be a cyborg (I did get to try a CGM for a week once but no funding for that either). But I do relate to some days feeling more open to others asking questions etc and wearing the advocacy hat than other days.

Thanks for sharing! I’ve only had T1D for five years with no family history so not used to seeing others with insulin pumps, etc. Even though I’m not ashamed, still hard to show it so it’s always nice to read about others having similar thoughts and then overcoming it.

I’ve been a faithful reader since before you got married! I am also one who rarely comments, but I never miss a post and have gotten so much from your entries and also from your faithful responders. T1 for 35 years but I am still learning every day!

“Thanks for not making it seem like it sucks.”… that’s when you know you’ve done well. Rather than try to sugar-coat (bad choice of words) and get all cheery about it, you were just authentic and believable — and made him believe that his life could also not suck.

Hi from Florida! I look forward to seeing your blog in my inbox. Sometimes I forward the link to family, as was the case with the Miss America “Show Me Your Pump” post.
A bit of humor here re that: my adult son knows I’m an enthusiastic support of mothers breastfeeding. In response to the Miss America piece he wrote that he was glad to get something mentioning a pump “that was not about lactivism.” LOL

Thank you for sharing this. I don’t personally know what it’s like, but I have been there to comfort my son and explain to him that he has nothing to be ashamed of when people see his pump. Its encouraging to know that even as an adult you still feel a little self-conscious about it sometimes but that it can make a difference to people around you without even knowing it

I felt the same exact way when I Was at the pool in Vegas. I was in a study and had two dexcom sensors (one on each upper thigh) and my pump on my stomach. I felt like everyone was staring and didn’t want to get near the water but I finally did and no one said a word. Glad your experience helped someone too!

Ha, I love your blog, and so rarely post. My nephew is Birdy’s age, and I so often read your blog for ideas to discuss D with him.
Today’s post hit a spot. I started wearing my CGM on my arm recently. The first day it was visible I was so nervous (no reason, I know, just was), but by the end of the day I felt amazing. Lots of people looked at it, multiple times, some commented, all seemed curious. It ended up being a great conversation starter. Most people at work know I’m diabetic, but some didn’t, evidently, and the comments were really good. And helpful. It was a great reminder for me that it’s ok I’m diabetic and bionic.
Thanks for all your great posts!

Check!! Thanks for so often giving words to my emotions and experiences! I also love those unplanned advocacy moments. They seem to be more real.
A note – my grandkids are now to the point where when they sit on my lap – they look for my “bump” – aka my cgm transmitter. Since I alternate legs with each change – it’s a bit like a scavenger hunt. But I love that they will grow up not thinking anything is strange with someone having bionic spots – or “bumps”!

I’m kinda nerdy, so looking like a cyborg doesn’t bother me. What does bother me is when people say ignorant things. “Oh, you have diabetes, that sucks. How much candy/cake/cookies did you eat as a kid, must have been a ton!” is relatively common. Drives me nuts.

I typically spend more time worrying about my pump dragging my bathing suit bottom down around my ankles than hiding it. Because no one wants to see my pasty pale derriere.

Hi Kerri, just wanted to say thanks for your wonderful blog.
I live on the other side of the world in Australia and I am currently reading while breastfeeding my baby girl
I have been a diabetic for 29 years and can relate to and learn from to so many of your stories.
So thanks and keep up the great work!
Cheers
Kylie

I am (not so secretly) anticipating my first advocacy moment that comes from someone identifying my insulin pump. Hopefully it won’t be with a TSA agent. Those people don’t care about my CGM and that technology is way beyond anything they experience day to day. #check

[…] insulin pump did not fit into the dress easily. Or at all. Instead, it felt once again like I was clomping around with a toaster clipped to me. Which is why I decided to go on injections for the night and not wear my pump. Going MDI meant I […]

[…] the awkwardness and actually ask, instead of assuming. (And even in the 5% moments of “argh – stop looking, don’t ask,” it usually ends up being a moment of discussion and disclosure I’m grateful for. I […]

[…] away underneath my clothes, keeping my diabetes hidden, too. But I’m often surprised how a glimpse of a tubing, or a pump clipped to my v neck shirt can create an in-person moment of diabetes in the wild that […]

[…] I ended up in a really nice conversation with this dad of a girl with type 1 diabetes. Or the lifeguard that other time. Or all those times I’ve met a PWD or the loved one of a PWD in the wild, and how instant […]

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NONE of the information on this site is medical advice. None. If you are thinking about making changes in your diabetes care, talk with your doctor. Don’t take advice from people on the Internet as “medical advice.” I am not a doctor. I can’t even drive stick.